


Ten Years

by SigmaCreations



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Sex, F/M, Misunderstandings, Requited Love, Reunions, Sex, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 06:50:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6693850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigmaCreations/pseuds/SigmaCreations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU two-shot set today, on Ruth's birthday, ten years after the last time Harry saw her, leaving London after Cotterdam. T-rating for now, but there's smut to look forward to in the next chapter. Kudos owns what's theirs and the rest is my own work. Hope you enjoy and reviews are very much appreciated. Cheers, S.C.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Cyprus – 29 April 2016_

 

He has waited ten years to return it, and as he sits on the bed of his hotel room, gazing down at the necklace in his hands, he can't help feeling overwhelmed by emotion. In a few hours, he will see her again, speak to her, feel the warmth of her gaze, see the smile on her lips and the dimples in her cheeks. He's waited so long for this moment. So long.

After she'd left, in order to survive, he'd forced himself to put her out of his mind, carefully packing away his memories of her in a corner of his mind. He would pull them out from time to time when he desperately needed them, when everything and everyone was conspiring against him, when the world seemed to be crashing down around his ears, when his will to go on was shaken and almost lost. Then he would remember her – her wisdom, her determination, her brilliance, her beauty, the way she used to look at him, the softness of her lips, the smoothness of her skin, her grace, her love, his everything.

Many times he'd tried to move on, telling himself that it's the right thing, the healthy thing to do, and every time he'd failed. And he knows that at the back of his mind had always been the hope that they'd meet again some day, but while many times he'd thought to look for her, he'd always managed to talk himself out of it in the end, knowing, _hoping,_ that she was safer and happier in her new life away from the poison of the Security Services.

He'd cleared her name. It had been something that he'd promised himself he'd do the moment she'd stepped off English soil as he'd watched her slip away down the Thames. He'd owed her that much and he'd never stopped trying until he'd eventually succeeded more than five years later. He hadn't known how to contact her, of course, how to tell her she's free to come home if she wishes, and by then, he wouldn't have known where to even start.

His surprise then when he received an email from her less than a month ago, asking him how he's enjoying retirement, is impossible to describe. He'd been in France at the time, Paris to be precise, just beginning his journey through the large capitals of Europe, his Grand Tour that should have been _their_ Grand Tour, thinking of her every step of the way, his memories of her no longer needing to be confined to the corner, but allowed out into the open to be treasured and enjoyed every moment of the day and night.

They'd exchanged a few emails through which he'd learnt that she's now living in Cyprus near a town called Polis, where she teaches English and the piano, and where she has a wonderful step-son. That part had come as a bit of a shock to him despite telling himself for years that she must havemet someone else and moved on, being the young, vibrant woman that he remembered her to be, but he'd dutifully expressed his joy and best wishes for the boy and for her, always for her. That had been when she'd suggested that they meet, telling him that she'd love to see him.

Andso here he is.

In Cyprus.

On her birthday.

 

* * *

 

He sees her the moment he turns the corner into the street that runs along behind the beach despite the fact that she's a good distance away; he'd recognise her anywhere. She's standing at the end of the jetty, gazing out to sea. A more conspicuous place she couldn't have found if she'd tried and it warms his heart to see it, this evidence that she's left the life of a spy so far behind.

The town clock chimes somewhere, causing her to snap out of her contemplation of the sea, and she turns to scan the land, her eyes alighting on him almost immediately and her face breaking out in the widest, brightest smile he's seen in a very long time. His steps slow as he watches her, mesmerised for a moment as he softly smiles back, his heart racing and flooding with joy. She waves happily and practically skips down the jetty towards him, causing him to snap out of his stupor and begin striding towards her once more.

She reaches the end of the wooden structure and turns in his direction, moving quickly along the shore until there are just a few yards left between them. Both of their steps slow then, their eyes running over each other quickly before settling on each other's as they come to a complete stop an arm's length apart, under the shade of a largeplane tree.

“Ruth,” he whispers softly, almost overcome by emotion.

“Hello, Harry,” she smiles in return, her dimples flashing once more. “It's so good to see you,” she adds and leans forward, placing a soft kiss against his cheek as she wraps her arms around him.

Surprise overwhelms him for a moment before he gently reciprocates, embracing her and holding her against him for a moment, fighting hard to remain in control of himself and his emotions. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, but the feel of her in his arms and the scent of her, the essence of Ruth, are so overpowering that he has to pull back and turn his head away, lifting his right hand to quickly wipe away the moisture from his eyes. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

“Don't be,” she smiles. “The wind's strong out here.”

She's lying, of course. The wind is but a tiny breeze, just taking the edge off the heat of the sun.

He looks at her, seeing the mischief in her eyes, her lips smiling broadly, and he can't help smiling in return. “I never thought I'd see you again,” he confesses softly.

It's true. He's always hoped he would, but he never really believed it. Good things happen to other people, in his experience, not to him.

“So the flowers are for someone else then?” she teases, her playfulness disarming.

He hands her the bouquet, murmuring softly, “Happy birthday, Ruth.”

“You remembered,” she says, her voice conveying her pleasure. “Thank you. They're gorgeous. I love daffodils. They're my favourites. Where did you find them blooming so late?”

“I might have brought them with me,” he confesses, “from Paris.”

“You smuggled them in through customs?” she asks in surprise, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Harry, you could have been arrested for that!”

“But I wasn't,” he shrugs.

She doesn't seem to know what to say to that, so she just shakes her head at him before sighing and murmuring, “They _are_ beautiful though. Thank you for them… and for remembering.”

“Always, Ruth,” he replies gently, gazing into her eyes. He can't seem to help himself. His self-control is nowhere to be found today… that is until he remembers that she's married now and he quickly wrenches his gaze from hers and looks out to sea.

 

* * *

 

“You never told me,” he says as he puts down his glass, grateful for the cold water on such a hot day. “How did you find me?”

“It wasn't that difficult,” she smiles at him over the top of her coffee cup. “I knew where to look. Plus I never really lost touch,” she confesses softly as she returns the cup to its saucer, surprising him. “I'd set up a pretty good network, you know, under various aliases, some of them unofficial, just in case. Malcolm also gave me the details of a grade A asset he has with whom I was to use a certain phrase on an internet blog every six months or so, to make sure no one was onto me. He'd reply with another seemingly unrelated post, containing pre-agreed code words, letting me know if there was still interest in finding me, or if someone had found the trail. It was very reassuring to know Malcolm was monitoring things so that any hint of interest in my whereabouts would reach me before someone got too close. It took me a year to trust it, but then I found myself here, I got myself a good job at the local hospital and I loved it and wanted to stay, so I did.” He nods in admiration - a born spook. “Then after that, I used my network from time to time and with great care, wanting to stay abreast of new developments, make sure Mace hadn't wormed his way back into favour or something... and make sure _you_ were all right, not busy getting shot or anything.”

He smiles at that, feeling his heart overflow with the knowledge that she still cares for him even if she no longer loves him.

“So last August,” she continues, “when I made my usual enquiries, I discovered that you'd retired and I realised then that I wanted to see you. I managed to get in contact with Malcolm, who told me you'd cleared my name and gave me your email address, and the rest you know.” She smiles and then adds, “Thank you, by the way… for giving me my name back.”

“It's the least I could do, Ruth, after you went into exile to save me,” he murmurs, looking away to hide the pain he always feels at the thought of all she suffered because of him and his love for her.

He feels her hand on his arm and turns to look at her in surprise. “I chose to do it, Harry,” she says gently, yet firmly. “There's no need to feel guilty.”

“How can I not, Ruth,” he sighs, “when the reason they targeted you in the first place was me?”

“Because it minimises what I did, Harry,” she insists, her gaze turning steely for a second before her eyes soften and she adds, “and why I did it.”

“Minimises it?” he frowns. “It was a huge, _colossal_ sacrifice, Ruth, and I-”

“Won't let me own it,” she finishes for him. “ _I_ made the choice to take the blame. _I_ insisted the team put me back in the picture. _I_ made the call. It was an operational decision and it made the most sense at the time because we couldn't lose you, Harry; we couldn't lose our leader. Mace would have made mincemeat out of the rest of us, probably completely dismantling Section D like he'd tried to do before. You know that.”

He nods and looks away again.

She's right.

She's always right, his brilliant Ruth.

Except she's not his any more.

He needs to remember that. “I still feel...”

“I know,” she smiles, rubbing his arm and causing his eyes to turn back to hers, “but you need to stop. Feeling guilty doesn't help. It doesn't solve anything and it stops you from enjoying what you have, poisoning it and turning it sour.” It's her turn to look away now and he wonders what she's thinking, what happened to her to have caused her such pain. He wants to ask, but he has a feeling she'll not say, or if she does, it'll be something _he's_ done and he's not quite ready to face that now. So he changes the subject.

“I have something for you,” he ventures, and reaching into his pocket, he brings out the red gift-box he'd picked out at the airport.

“Oh Harry,” she smiles, “another present? You shouldn't have.”

“Actually, it's not,” he replies, placing it on the table between them. “It's something you left behind that I know meant a lot to you and I thought you might like it back.”

She frowns at him now, curious as she pulls the box towards her and gently lifts the lid. She doesn't say anything, doesn't make a sound as her fingers wrap around the charm necklace she'd left behindall those moons ago and she lifts her other hand to cover her mouth, overwhelmed for a moment. “You kept it,” she says eventually, her voice strained with emotion.

“Yes,” he nods, failing to mention how close he'd kept it over the years, a cherished memento of her, of that night, their one beautiful night together. Does she remember, he wonders, does she relive it at all?

She turns her eyes on him then and he can see them brimming with tears as she smiles crookedly and whispers, “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

“It's almost lunch time,” he says in surprise as he glances at his watch. “Would you like to get a bite to eat?” he adds quickly, dreading the thought of her perhaps leaving him to go back to work or go home.

“Good idea,” she smiles. “How about we go back to my place? I could toss together a salad and we could have it with wine and fresh French bread and cold ham. I swear the weather's gone mad of late. It's so hot today, I don't think I could manage anything heavier than that.”

He hesitates, wondering if her husband and step-son will be present too at this lunch she's offering to prepare.

“Come on, Harry,” she smiles encouragingly. “These poor Daffodils will die if I don't get them indoors and in vase soon, and I'm determined to make them last for my entire birthday at least.”

“All right,” he nods. “Thank you.”

They get up and he pays for their drinks. Then they turn back along the shore, his heart threatening to burst when she slips her hand through his arm, softly gripping his bicep as she takes a step closer and looks up at him happily. “It's so good to have you here, Harry,” she says.

 

* * *

 

“Where's your step-son?” he asks at last, unable to bear the suspense any longer. The charming little house she calls home seems too small to hold a family as he'd discovered when she'd directed him to the bathroom as soon as they'd arrived, saying, “Bathroom's right here if you want to wash your hands.” There only seems to be one other doorway leading off the open plan kitchen, dining and living room area, which he assumes to be her bedroom.

“He'll still be at school,” she replies, as she pauses in the process of tossing the salad to coat it with the vinaigrette and glances at the kitchen clock. It's a beautiful bird clock that makes different bird sounds to chime the hour as he'd discovered a moment ago, at one o'clock, when a nightingale had suddenly began to sing. “I might see him later tonight,” she adds, turning back to her task.

“Might?” he frowns, thoroughly confused now.

“Well, he lives in Polis with his dad,” she shrugs. “I usually meet up with him at the weekend, so if he doesn't come round tonight, I'll see him tomorrow. He doesn't know it's my birthday anyway.”

That surprises him for a moment until he realises. “Of course,” he says, nodding. “He has no idea who you are.”

“No,” she shakes her head, but then hastens to add, “at least, not my real name and birthday. He knows _me_ though, who I am inside.”

“Are you not tempted to tell him the truth?” he asks, curious and concerned for her.

“Not yet,” she shakes her head. “I thought about it, when I got my new passport, but I've decided to wait. It would complicate things a lot, and they're complicated enough as it is already. Perhaps after he's left home.”

“So you and… your husband-” he ventures after a pause when she's taken a seat across from him at the table, desperate to figure out the nature of her relationship with him.

“Ex-husband,” she corrects, her eyes on the salad utensils she's using to pile food on his plate.

“That's plenty, thanks,” he nods, his heart floating somewhere high above them all of a sudden.

“It's been two years now,” she continues after a bit, once they've both got food on their plates and Harry has poured the wine, “since I moved out. The divorce came through almost a year ago now.”

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs and means it; he would never wish her in pain or to be unhappy. “Were you together long?”

“Six years, give or take,” she mumbles through a mouthful of salad. “Sorry,” she smiles once she's swallowed. “He's a doctor, works at the hospital where I did some clerical work for a while. He's a good, kind man and a great father, but... I guess it was just not meant to be. Nico, my step-son, is wonderful though. I miss him a lot, but he's fifteen now and hardly ever at home, according to George. In three years, he'll be off to university. They grow up so fast.”

“That they do,” he nods, thinking of his own children.

“Have you been happy, Ruth?” he asks after a moment of silence, thinking of all the years they've been apart and how many times he'd wished for that for her, softly whispered into the night as he lay awake, thinking of her, “Be happy, Ruth, wherever you are. _”_

“I've been… content,” she replies, taking a sip of her wine. “I can't complain, Harry. I've had a good life since leaving England, all things considered, much better than I expected really, only...” she tails off.

“Only what?” he asks softly.

But she shakes her head and changes the subject.

 

* * *

 

“What about you?” she asks, turning those beautiful, blue eyes on his. “No ring, I see?”

“No,” he shakes his head, glancing down at his left hand, remembering Connie saying pretty much the same thing and wondering at it. After their honeymoon, he never wore a ring when he was married to Jane. It hadn't seemed important at the time, just one more thing to remember to take off before a mission and put back on when he returned. He'd wear it now though, he finds himself thinking; if Ruth put it there, he'd never take it off. “Couldn't find one that fits,” he murmurs softly.

“Tried a lot on for size, did you?” she grins mischievously.

He smiles, lifting his gaze back to hers. “No need,” he says. “I've had my eye on one for years, but it's proved very hard to get.”

He sees her blush and drop her gaze for a moment before looking at him again. “Perhaps it's not worth the hassle,” she murmurs quietly.

“Oh it's worth it, Ruth,” he replies, leaning towards her across the table, his gaze intense as he wills her to understand how much she means, has always meant, to him. “It's worth all this and so much more.”

She holds his gaze and he finds himself getting lost in her clear, blue eyes, barely able to breathe as he waits, his heart in his mouth, for her response. Her eyes soften and her hand slips across the table, her fingertips softly grazing the back of his, only for the moment to be shattered by the ringing of her phone.

“I'd better get that,” she says, and swiftly gets up.

“Ruth,” he utters almost in desperation, but she ignores him, crossing the kitchen and lifting the receiver, murmuring a greeting in Greek, her back turned towards him. He sighs and slumps back in his seat, rubbing his face with his hands and taking a fortifying gulp of wine, trying not to read anything into her withdrawal. She's always had the tendency to bolt from him, but after all this time and the warmth of her behaviour towards him now, he'd hoped that things have changed, and suddenly, he feels frustrated and so _very_ tired of it and more than a little hurt that she's still not sure, still not willing to give them a chance when it comes down to it.

“That was Nico,” she smiles brightly, returning to him. “He's coming over in a bit.”

“Right,” he nods and stands, his heart still smarting. “I'd better get out of your hair then.”

“Don't be silly, Harry,” she shakes her head, moving to stand in front of him. “I'd like you to meet him,” she smiles and reaches up to kiss his cheek. Then she pulls back and picks up their empty plates and carries them over to the sink, seemingly oblivious to the stunned man standing where she's left him as she adds over her shoulder, “He won't be here for another couple of hours yet anyway. It's too hot out and it's siesta time. Everything's closed... Welcome to the civilised world.”


	2. Chapter 2

When he comes out of the bathroom, he hears her singing along to a song on the radio:

“Just please don't say you love me 'cause I might not say it back,  
Doesn't mean my heart stops skipping when you look at me like that,  
There's no need to worry when you see just where we're at,  
Just, please don't say you love me 'cause I might not say it back.”

He smiles, propping himself against the wall and watching her as she sways her body to the music, drying her hands on the tea-towel and opening her mouth to sing the last verse again. “What way would that be, Ruth?” he asks softly, making her almost jump as she spins round suddenly to face him.

“Harry!” she exclaims. “Don't _do_ that!”

“What's that, Ruth?” he asks innocently, enjoying how flustered she's become. He's always enjoyed it when he manages to tip her off balance, relishing the power he has and how beautiful she looks when her face flushes, perhaps unconsciously making up for the fact that she's never let him see her face flush with pleasure and passion instead.

Except once.

Just once.

“Look at you?” he continues, his voice getting deeper and huskier with each word. “Worry? Say I love you?... Or make you jump?”

“Jump,” she all but squeaks, her eyes wide, her hands gripping the back of the chair where she's spread the towel to dry. She swallows as he moves to stand across the table from her, leaning on the back of the chair opposite hers, a smile creeping across his lips.

Good God, but she's beautiful.

And he wants her.

Badly.

But just as he's about to throw caution to the wind and stride around the table to kiss her, the DJ on the radio stops speaking - something he's barely registered, unused to the foreign tongue - and a new song begins to play. He sees recognition in her eyes and a mischievous smile spread across her lips before she begins to sing once more, the words of this song making his heart stop, his breath catching in his throat.

“Hang up the phone, I'm alone,

I'll unlock the door.  
Slip in, let all your clothes just fall  
off you to the floor.”

Christ! He exhales heavily, his heart beating fast now, chest rising and falling quickly, breathing rugged, hands gripping the chair for support. He swallows.

“Don't even make a sound or turn your mind around  
There is only now.. for me and you.”

A gesture with her slender hand between them. A smile. _That_ smile... and she's moving towards him as she sings in duet with the male singer on the radio,

“Can't stop whatever we started,

Can't resist what's meant to be.  
Forget whatever we promised,  
I want you all over me.  
Let's do it now, don't think,  
Look in my eyes and don't blink.  
Can't stop whatever we started.”

His head turns, eyes follow her progress towards him, gut twisting, body hardening with desire, lips parted, panting, but his hands are glued to the chair, unable to loosen their hold.

She slips behind him.

“Come over and I'll put my hands where I want to.”

Her hands touch his sides, glide over his stomach, up his chest, crossing over, squeezing him towards her, her chest pressed against his back, hips against his buttocks, lips between his shoulder blades. He closes his eyes. “Ruth,” he whispers.

“And I'll bet that my scent  
is still left on you.”

She slips around him, her hand gently closing over his and pulling it away from the chair, fingers linking with his.

“Baby, don't pretend,  
we could ever just be friends,”

Her eyes find his, open, passion-filled, hungry, brimming with love and desire.

For him.

_Him!_

And she changes the words.

“After _you_ have been,”

Her left hand slides up to rest over his heart.

“Inside... of... _me._ ”

Her gaze drops to his lips, chin tilting towards him, lips parting, she whispers one word, “Harry...” and he is lost.

“Can't stop whatever we started,

Can't resist what's meant to be.”

The male voice continues to sing alone now. Her mouth is too busy kissing him to carry on with the duet.

“Forget whatever we promised,  
I want you all over me.”

Yes. All over me.

Yes.

Yes.

It seems to be all he can think as he crushes her to him, kissing her desperately, and she maneuvers him backwards, he knows nor cares whereto.

“Let's do it now, don't think.”

He can't think.

He is lost.

Lost in a fantasy.

Lost in her.

Lost in Ruth.

Ruth.

Ruth.

“Look in my eyes and don't blink.  
Can't stop whatever we started.”

Can't stop.

Never stop.

A grunt escapes him as she pushes him into the door, her bedroom door, pressing herself against him while he pulls her closer, hands slipping under her top and lifting it up.

“HohhhhhOhhhOhhh,

HohhhhhOhhhOhhh...”

Her lips pull away, leaving him bereft for a moment, just for a moment, while she lifts her top over her head and drops it on the floor. His eyes fall to her smooth, tanned skin, her perfect breasts, encased in sky-blue lace.

“Ruth,” he whispers, hands rising to cup them, kneed them, stroke across hardened nipples, her moan of pleasure music to his ears.

“Hang up the phone, I'm alone,

I'll unlock the door...”

“Harry,” she breathes and turns the doorknob, making him stumble, caught off balance, beginning to fall backwards into the room.

“Can't stop whatever we started,

Can't resist what's meant to be.

Forget whatever we promised,  
I want you all over me.  
Let's do it now, don't think,  
Look in my eyes and don't blink.  
Can't stop whatever we started.”

He sees her smile as she steps into the room, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the floor, drawing his eyes down to her hips and beyond, the matching sky-blue underwear inflaming his desire. She is hot and so beautiful.

And she is his.

“HohhhhhOhhhOhhh...”

She's in his arms again, fingers working on the buttons of his shirt as he watches, awed by the realization that's just hit him like a freight train.

She wasn't having second thoughts.

She's not about to pull back again.

She is free. They both are. Single and free of responsibility, free of the Service, free of the limitations of a boss/employee relationship, free to be together, free to love and be loved.

Free.

And she's chosen _him_.

She is his.

 _His_.

His shirt falls open, her eyes lifting to meet his, and her hands rise up, pushing his shirt off his shoulders. “Ruth,” he whispers softly, caught in the enormity of this moment of understanding, lifting his hands to cup her cheeks, his eyes softly, reverently darting all over her face before returning to hers.

Her hands have stopped moving now, palms resting on his shoulders, both their bodies suddenly still, their gazes locked together, breaths deep, rugged. In the kitchen, the music changes again, the bird-clock – a chaffinch if he's not mistaken – interrupts, announcing the passage of another hour, but none of that matters right now.

She waits, watching him, her eyes glowing with emotion, burning with desire, but the words get stuck in his throat and he has to swallow twice before he can get them out, his voice husky, barely audible.

“I love you,” he whispers.

She smiles.

“I know,” she says, then kisses him.

She didn't say it back, he realises and smiles inwardly, his lips too busy returning her kiss, trying to keep up with her. She is utterly in control here, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and making quick work of his belt buckle and the fastening of his trousers, and he feels them fall to the floor while he's still busy tugging his shirt off.

“Ruth,” he gasps, making a strangled sound in the back of his throat as her mouth leaves his to suck on the sensitive skin of his neck, one hand squeezing his buttocks, the other cupping him through his trunks and gliding firmly up and down his length, pushing him far too near the edge already. “Christ!” he groans, taking a step back, away from her questing hands, only to walk into the foot of the bed.

“Don't think, Harry,” she says as she grasps his trunks and pulls them down, before pushing him backwards onto the bed.

He falls, unable to stop himself, the impact leaving him winded and a little dazed.

“Look in my eyes and don't blink,” she smiles above him, her thighs pressing into his sides, her heat covering his erection like a hot blanket as she reaches back to unclasp her bra, tossing it aside.

She leans over him, resting her forearms on either side of his head, her hands slipping into his hair as she murmurs against his lips, “Don't resist what's meant to be,” and kisses him again. But it is her next sentence that finally breaks the spell she's cast on him, driving him into action. “I want you all over me, Harry,” she whispers in his ear.

He groans, his arms suddenly crushing her against him, penis twitching under the molten temptation of her heat, hands firmly grasping her head and turning it to kiss her, tongue surging forward to part her lips, invading her mouth, claiming it for himself. And now he's stopped taking the back seat, his physical strength guarantees his victory as he swiftly reverses their positions, rolling her underneath him as he kicks his trousers and trunks off, mouth and hands coasting over her skin, tasting, sucking, teasing, igniting, her moans of pleasure driving him on until there are no barriers left between them and he's feasting on her, devouring her, and she finally breaks, over and over again.

He works his way up her body, planting kisses and caresses all along its length until his eyes find hers once more. “I've waited so long to do that, Ruth,” he whispers huskily.

“Harry,” she sighs, her hands cupping his face, softly caressing his cheeks. “I've missed you so much.” She kisses him softly, then adds, “You've no idea how much, Harry.” She smiles, gazing into his eyes, and there is so much love there that he can barely breathe. “Come,” she murmurs, moving her hands to his shoulders and down his back, pulling him towards her. “I want you inside me.”

He exhales heavily, dropping his forehead onto her chest for a moment before lifting his eyes to hers once more. “I don't have a condom, Ruth,” he sighs. “I'm sorry. I didn't expect... any of this,” he confesses softly.

She smiles, dimples flashing. “You weren't prepared for it last time either, as I recall,” she teases gently. “Luckily, I've planned ahead this time. I bought some a couple of weeks ago when I was in Paphos.” Then she grins and adds, “It was the only place I could find the extra-large size, and if memory serves, we're going to need them.”

He chuckles, caught off guard by her remark, and then spends some moments gazing down at her adoringly, overcome by how wonderful she is and marvelling at his luck in finding himself here, with her, after everything.

“I also had a coil fitted a few years back,” she murmurs cautiously, a blush creeping across her cheeks, “so we'll be fine if you don't want to bother with the condoms. I got myself tested and they were clear. The tests I mean. That's why I went to Paphos. It's a bigger town and further away so...” she tails off, blushing harder. “Sorry,” she says. “I'm babbling.”

“I love it when you babble,” he confesses, reaching down to rub his nose lovingly against hers. Then he pulls back and adds, “I must confess that I haven't had myself tested in a while. I didn't feel I needed to. There's been no one else for me and the last time things progressed this far was years ago... with you.”

She stills, her eyes widening in surprise. “That's,” she murmurs, seemingly lost for words, “a long time, Harry.”

He shrugs, feeling acutely self-conscious. “Hopefully, I haven't lost my touch,” he says, then closes his eyes, mentally kicking himself.

“It wouldn't matter if you had,” she smiles, her eyes softening into pools of liquid love. “I'm just glad you're here, Harry. You've no idea how glad. It's been so... hard without you, living with so many regrets. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind... or my heart.”

His heart aches at her words, silently railing against the unfairness of their separation and the suffering it has inflicted on both of them. They've given so much, and for what? He sighs, leaning down to softly kiss her lips. “I'm sorry,” he murmurs.

“It's okay,” she smiles. “You're here now.”

“I am,” he nods and kisses her once more. She responds, pulling his head down and parting her lips under his, and with a moan of deep longing, he gives into her and his body's urgent need to be inside her.

She's perfect, oh so perfect, and as she guides him into her and he slides home, he cannot help but groan loudly in pleasure, the sensation almost overpowering in its intensity, the emotions overwhelming. He tries to hold on, to find a rhythm that will help him last for her, but it's been so long and she feels so very good that he can't seem to hold himself back.

He is almost there now and he can hear himself grunting with each thrust, driving faster and deeper into her welcoming warmth, and it's only vaguely that he registers someone calling, “Ruth?” and the sudden rigidity of her body followed by her hands pushing against his chest and her demand to let her go.

But it is too late. He can't stop as his body convulses with pleasure and he groans his release, whispering her name.

“Let me up, Harry,” she whispers urgently, pushing against his chest until he rolls off her, his brain only just beginning to catch up to the fact that something is terribly wrong. He sees her dart out of bed, dashing to the door of her room and pushing it closed until only a crack remains open while she calls out, “It that you, Nico?”

“Yes,” comes the reply from the other room.

“I'll be right there,” she calls out, crouching down and reaching through the doorway for a moment before she turns and closes the door, the shirt she'd discarded earlier in her hand. She looks worried as she says in a low voice, “Get dressed, Harry. He can't find you like this. Shit! What do I do?” He watches her with a sinking feeling in his stomach as she picks up her clothes and tosses them into the basket in the corner before slipping on her bra and knickers and crossing the room to her wardrobe. She pulls out a summer dress that she proceeds to pull on over her head, muttering to herself. “I'll get him out of the house,” she says eventually, turning towards him again while she runs her fingers through her hair to get rid of the tangles. “We'll go get some ice cream from the shop. All right? That will give you plenty of time to get dressed. You can pretend you were in the bathroom. Okay?”

“Okay,” he nods, his spook mask in place.

“Right,” she says and turns, picking up his clothes and tossing them onto the bed. “See you in a bit,” she adds and slips out of the room.

 

* * *

 

“I nip to the loo for a moment,” he says as they walk into the kitchen, “and you disappear off the face of the earth.”

“Sorry,” she replies. “I called out to you. Didn't you hear? I forgot to buy the ice cream. This is my son, Nico,” she adds, and turning to the boy, says, “Nico, this is my friend, Harry Pearce.”

“How do you do, Mr. Pearce?” Nico says in lightly accented English, offering his hand.

“Harry, please,” he smiles at the good looking, dark haired teen before him, whose eyes are almost level with his own. “Pleased to meet you, Nico. I've heard a lot about you.” That's not strictly true, but he figures it's a nice thing to say.

Introductions over, he sits back and watches them as they set about making coffee and getting the ice cream served up, their interaction warm, open, teasing, and loving. They don't say anything of any consequence, just normal every day kind of things. Nico forgets himself and begins telling her something in Greek that makes her laugh, but Ruth replies in English, subtly reminding him to stick to the language they all have in common. The strength of the bond between them is not lost on Harry, his heart feeling heavy at the realisation that Ruth is not as free as he thought she was and there are things other than the Service capable of driving a wedge between them. He'd been hoping that the way she'd acted earlier had been a result of the shock and embarrassment of Nico almost walking in on them making love, but he can see now that it goes deeper than that.

Once they're all sitting at the table, he makes an effort to show an interest in the boy, asking him questions about himself and engaging in easy conversation, but his heart is really no longer in it and eventually he has to excuse himself, thanking Ruth for the meal but saying he's feeling tired and needs to go back to his hotel to rest. “It must be the jet-lag,” he offers as an explanation.

“I thought you'd arrived from Paris,” Nico frowns, looking from him to Ruth and back again.

“I did,” he nods, surprised that he knows this and beginning to wonder what exactly Ruth has told her son about him, “but I've only just got back from a trip to America last week,” he invents quickly.

Nico nods in acceptance and they say their goodbyes, Ruth rising and walking him to the door where she kisses his cheek and says she hopes she'll see him later. He manages to avoid replying to that, but doesn't miss the probing look she gives him, nor the frown of concern that crosses her face as he turns and walks away.

 

* * *

 

“ _There_ you are!” she says softly when he's close enough to hear.

“Hello, Ruth,” he nods, his heart aching as he holds himself back when all he wants to do is pull her into his arms and beg her to give them a chance. “Did you need something?”

“ _That_ is a very strange question, Harry Pearce,” she frowns. “I tried to ring you, but you didn't answer, and when I went to your hotel, they told me you'd gone for a walk along the beach. That was two hours ago.”

He looks away uncomfortably, wondering if she's been waiting for him here all this time. “I needed to clear my head,” he offers as an explanation. “And it's a beautiful evening,” he adds. The temperature has dropped and the wind has picked up a bit since this morning and it's tossing her hair about, the last rays of the sun lighting up her face and making her look devastatingly beautiful, and he can't help staring, wanting, longing...

“I'm sorry about earlier,” she says eventually. “I didn't want him to find us... like that.”

“That's understandable,” he nods, looking towards the setting sun, scared she'll see the hurt in his gaze. “He's your son.”

“Yes,” she nods, turning to watch the sunset with him, her hand just a few inches from his and it is so tempting to just reach for it and clasp it in his own.

Neither of them move.

It's as if they've gone back to another time and place where, try as they might, they could never reach each other, he thinks sadly as he contemplates the loss of the warmth and the closeness they'd experienced just a few short hours ago. And as he watches the sun set over the sea, he can't help hoping that the sun doesn't go down on their relationship too. He doesn't think he could survive that.

He won't let it, let _her_ , go without a fight.

He can't.

He's about to say something, do something, _anything_ to stop it all slipping away, when she speaks.

“He was worried when you left,” she murmurs as the last sliver of sun slips below the horizon. “He asked me if we'd had a fight.”

“Why would he ask that?” he frowns, turning to look at her in the gathering dusk.

“I told him about you,” she explains softly. “He found a scrap of paper a while back, after I'd found out you'd retired, where I'd tried to compose a letter to you.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” he murmurs in surprise as he digests this piece of information.

“When?” she asks in exasperation before adding more softly. “I'm telling you now, Harry, if you'll listen.”

He nods and suggests, “Let's sit on that bench over there,” so they make their way towards it and take a seat, close to each other but not touching, just like it used to be.

“I've wanted to find you for a long time, Harry,” she says after they've settled, “ever since things began falling apart with George, when I figured out that I couldn't make it work with anyone else because I was still in love with you and longing for another chance.”

The relief is palpable and renders him speechless for several moments.

In love with him.

Still unable to speak, he reaches for her hand and is reassured when she lets him take it, squeezing his hand gently in both of her own and turning to face the sea, smiling as the wind gently toys with her hair.

“I felt guilty for wanting you when I had someone good and kind in my life who loved me. It wasn't fair on him,” she confesses.

He doesn't know what to say to that, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“Anyway,” she continues after a moment, “I knew that it would be dangerous for both of us if I tried to find you before you'd left MI-5, and I didn't want to leave Cyprus while Nico still needed me, but when I discovered you'd retired, I began looking for you and planning what to say, what to write to you.” She turns to look at him and smiles and he can't help longing to kiss her, but he holds back, scared he'll never hear what she has to say if he lets himself get distracted.

“I never got your letter,” he murmurs softly instead.

“I never sent it,” she smiles and drops her gaze to their joined hands, now resting on her thigh. “When Nico found it, I said to him that I'd heard from you recently and that I found I still had feelings for you after all these years. I didn't go into many details, and obviously, it was hard for him to hear and accept initially. I told George about it in the hope that he would talk to Nico, which he did, and in the months since then, Nico became progressively more comfortable with the idea, asking questions about you, about us, and encouraging me to invite you over here in the end.” She smiles fondly then turns to him and leans into his chest, wrapping her arms around him as she nestles her face into his neck. It surprises him and thrills him how openly affectionate she is with him now, how much she's changed. She feels so good against him. How long has he longed to hold her like this while sitting on a bench, watching the Thames flow by?

“I want you, Harry,” she murmurs. “I want you in my life, in my home, in my bed. I want a future with you. Don't ever doubt that.”

He squeezes her against him, feeling a lightness in his heart that hasn't been there in years, decades even. “Tell me your plans for us, Ruth,” he replies eventually, knowing she'll have it all worked out in her head already and longing to hear her hopes for their future, desperately hoping they match his own.

“I don't want to leave this place for a few years yet,” she says. “Not until Nico's left for university, but after that... I could go anywhere. I'd like to move back to England at least for a bit. I've missed it... And I'd like to do that with you. I was hoping I could persuade you to move in with me. Here, to begin with and then... Anywhere. You could choose.”

“We could choose together,” he replies, pressing his lips against her forehead and squeezing her in his arms.

“Yes,” she smiles.

“That sounds... wonderful, Ruth,” he confesses softly.

“I thought,” she smiles shyly, “that perhaps we could do a bit of travelling too. Take a few weeks here and there and go see the places we've always wanted to see... together.”

“The Grand Tour?” he asks.

“Yes,” she nods, smiling more broadly.

“I'd like that,” he agrees and kisses the top of her head.

They sit in silence for some time, savouring the moment when all their dreams seem to have suddenly come true, before she says, “I really _am_ sorry about earlier, Harry. I know it wasn't-”

“It's fine, Ruth,” he murmurs, not really wishing to think or talk about it now.

“No, it's not,” she insists. “It shouldn't have been like that, our coming together after so long apart, and it's my fault that-”

“Ruth,” he interrupts gently, but firmly, “you don't need to explain. It was unfortunate, certainly, but no one's fault.” She sighs and burrows further into his embrace, making him smile fondly down at her. “Besides,” he adds gently, wishing to reassure her, “this cuddle is more than making up for the one I missed out on earlier. Cold?” he asks.

He sees her smile and lift her head from his shoulder, turning her face up towards his as she moves closer and replies, “A little. I was hoping for some lazy kisses too, you know, to warm me up.”

“Then you're in luck, Ruth,” he murmurs, “as you happen to be addressing a man who is not only utterly in love with you, but a knight of the realm to boot, and therefore, duty bound to obey my lady's wishes.”

She giggles as he'd hoped she would before she reaches up to kiss him, murmuring against his lips, “I'll remind you of that later when someone needs to do the dishes, Sir Harry.”

 

* * *

 

“Where are we going, Ruth?” he asks as he walks up the dirt road beside her, her arm linked through his.

“You'll see,” she smiles enigmatically. “I always go here on my birthday,” she adds. “It's the reason I moved to this village. Gives me an excuse to celebrate.”

He nods in understanding; it must be hard to have to ignore such an important day. “Speaking of your birthday,” he says. “I've yet to give you a present.”

She stops walking and turns to look at him in the moonlight. “You brought me my favourite flowers from Paris, Harry,” she smiles, “returned the necklace my father gave me that I'd thought I'd lost forever, _and_ you gave me the man I love. You've made love to me and agreed to live with me, not to mention canoodling with me in the moonlight. I'd say this is the best birthday and the best _presents_ I could ever wish for.”

He smiles, moving his lips softly against hers as she reaches up to kiss him, then nods once and says, “I'd still like to get you something more. A bracelet or a charm for your necklace perhaps. A memento to make up for all the birthday's I've missed when I wanted to get you something and couldn't.”

“Well,” she says as she turns and begins walking again, “we might find something at the fair.”

“So _that's_ where we're going,” he grins in triumph then laughs as she softly slaps his arm and grumbles, “Bloody spook.”

 

* * *

 

He watches her from the bed as she gently touches the bracelet on her wrist, smiling softly before removing it and setting it aside on her dressing table next to the necklace he'd returned to her earlier. “What?” she asks as she catches his eye in the mirror.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head. “I just can't seem to take my eyes off you.”

“I won't disappear if you blink, you know,” she smiles, getting up and moving over to switch off the light before slipping out of her silk dressing gown and joining him in bed.

“I know,” he replies, wrapping his arms around her as she cuddles up against him, “but I have many years to make up for and so much to learn about you.”

“You know all the important things,” she sighs happily and presses a kiss against his t-shirt covered chest.

“Perhaps,” he concedes, “but I still have much to learn, like what time you wake up in the morning, if you like to have a lie in or you jump out of bed, what you have for breakfast, what you do for fun, when you like to make love, if you like to cuddle at night, if you sleep on your back, or your side, or your tummy, if you snore-”

“Watch it!” she interrupts, her eyes twinkling at him in the moonlight streaming in through the flimsy curtains she's drawn across the window.

He laughs and pulls her further into his arms, stroking her hair and pressing his lips against her forehead as he whispers, “Forgive me.”

“Always,” she smiles, her eyes full of mischief as she leans back to look at him. “Besides, I've been wondering about you too, you know. For instance, are you the type of man to fart in bed or not?”

A bark of laugher escapes him at that, so unexpected are her words, and he can't stop laughing for some moments, rolling onto his back as he tries to calm himself. When he turns his head to look at her, she's grinning happily at him, her chin propped on her hands as she lies on her stomach, her weight supported on her elbows. “God, I love you, Ruth,” he states, overwhelmed by joy.

“Mmm,” she hums. “Me too.” Then before he can say anything more, he sees her eyes drop to his lips, his heart suddenly beating faster as she leans forward, her lips approaching his as she murmurs, “You know something else, Harry?”

“What?” he breathes, turning his body towards her, his eyes hungrily searching hers.

“There's something else I've never done on my birthday,” she replies.

He swallows, feeling his body hardening with desire. “What's that?”

“I've never made love more than once,” she confesses, “and I'd _really_ like to try that. What do you think?”

He smiles, pressing his lips softly against her cheek, his right hand slipping into her hair as his left rests against her side, thumb curling round to stroke the swell of her breast over her silk nightie. “I think we're going to have to be quick,” he replies. “It's almost midnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was partly inspired by a couple of songs that were playing on the radio while I was writing: "Please Don't Say You Love Me" by Gabrielle Aplin and "Whatever We Started" by Richard Marx.


End file.
